


Lock and Key

by winterkill



Series: Cop!Brienne AU [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Handcuffs, Smut, and some SERIOUS Hyle Hunt dragging, and zootopia jokes, this is just soft handcuff smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: “The real question is, officer, did you bring something tounlockthem?” When she produces the key from her pocket, laughter bubbles out of Jaime. It’s a long moment before he replies, “Iknewif you noticed I took them that you’d follow up with--”“Shut up.”Brienne blushes from her face to her toes.“IthinkI broke the law,” Jaime clicks his tongue and shakes his head reproachfully, “You’ll have to punish me. It’s such a shame. I was doing so well.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Cop!Brienne AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715098
Comments: 58
Kudos: 235





	Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's part three! This sure is some smut. 
> 
> If you're new around here, this fic is a sequel to [_I Hold You Like a Weapon_](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/56361835) and [_Come a Little Bit Closer_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598808). This will make more sense if you read those first.

When Brynden and Brienne stop by the precinct mid-morning, Jaime’s in the visitor’s lobby waiting in line in front of Jon Snow, who’s stuck on desk duty. It’s everyone’s least favorite because it means dealing with queries from the general public, many of which are ridiculous or just not something under police jurisdiction.

Currently, Jon is trying to convince an elderly woman that they can’t spare manpower to search for her missing dog.

“How would you feel if it was _your_ dog?” She points at Ghost who’s sitting next to Jon’s chair in his standard-issue K-9 unit vest.

“Sad,” Jon answers; he sounds a bit offended at the assumption that Ghost would be so poorly trained as to wander off. “But we can’t spare manpower for something that’s not a crime. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

The woman looks close to tears, but not as close as Jon is going to be when he has to deal with Jaime. Brienne brought him to their last office party, and no one has forgotten the business with Vargo Hoat half a year ago. It’s not an exaggeration that a large portion of Brienne’s fellow officers find Jaime _mildly_ grating. It’s not untrue--Jaime can be insufferably smug and flippant, and his teasing barbs have an accuracy that sometimes only he finds funny. He’s astute, and not always delicate about how he uses his observations.

Secretly, and sometimes not-so-secretly, Jaime makes her laugh.

Brienne has _no_ idea why Jaime is here today. When she left her apartment, he’d been doing schoolwork on his laptop at the dining room table. The pandemic ended months ago, and he looked for an apartment halfheartedly until Brienne took his hand and said, “You don’t have to go, if you’d like to stay here.” 

Jaime smiled, blindingly bright, and said, “I guess you’d miss my _skills,_ if you catch my meaning.” He embraced her after that, with fistfuls of her sweatshirt in his hands and his head in the crook of her neck.

Besides, Jaime only had three suitcases of belongings and was a better cook than her.

Jon's expression is _quite_ wary when Jaime sidles up to the counter. He sighs before saying, completely deadpan, “How can the King’s Landing PD serve you today?”

 _“Weeeeell,”_ Jaime reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled flier that Brienne recognizes. “I’d like to participate in the ride along program. I’m considering entering the academy, but I wanna be sure, you know, that it’s the right path for me.”

 _Oh no._ It’s the ultimate community outreach backfire; they can’t refuse Jaime without losing face.

“Jaime, you know we _can’t_ pair you with Officer Tarth.”

“Oh, I know,” Jaime’s grin is bordering on feral, “I’d never _dream_ of impeding such a diligent officer’s work day. I wanna to ride with someone more my speed.”

“...Who’d you have in mind?”

“Officer Hunt.”

* * *

Brienne is going to _absolutely_ kill him when she gets home tonight, but it’s going to be worth it. Jaime can find a way to make it up to her--he can fuck her in the shower or sit on his hands in a kitchen chair while she teases him within an inch of his life, and he tries not to reach for her. It’s a game Jaime fails, always, because to breathe is to want to touch Brienne.

Hunt’s partner is a burly looking man named Ben Bushy; he looks incredibly uncomfortable in the back of the squad car--a feeling Jaime remembers and doesn’t want to experience again. The front passenger seat, however, is quite comfortable; Hyle’s within bothering distance, and there’s _plenty_ of legroom. 

The first hour of patrol is uneventful. They tour Rhaenys’s Hill and the Street of Flour keeping an eye out for anything and waiting for a call on the radio. It’s logical that they don’t go to Flea Bottom--bad publicity if a participant in the ride along program gets caught in a shootout.

...Not that Jaime couldn’t handle himself.

In lieu of something interesting, Jaime decides to ask Hunt some pertinent questions.

“What made you decide to become a cop?” 

Hunt shrugs, “My old man was a cop back in a small town in the Reach.”

“Did he instill in you a strong desire to serve and protect?”

“Did yours instill in you a strong desire to shut the hell up, Lannister?”

From the back seat, Bushy barks out a laugh; Jaime’s not sure the meathead knows enough words for a proper response. _These are the kind of men who become law enforcement._

“Not really,” Jaime shrugs, too, “Not to be the cunt he is, I guess.”

Tywin Lannister is a lesson in what _not_ to do. Although, perhaps Jaime course-corrected too far in his desire to run from from the legacy of his name. Restraint had never been his strong suit.

“How’s that working out for you?” Hyle snorts, “With your family, if you become a cop, every thug in Westeros will be on your ass in two weeks.”

_As loathe as I am to admit it, Hunt might have a point._

Well, now isn’t the time to lose his bravado. They’re at a stoplight, so Jaime looks Hunt dead in the eye. “I’ll manage.”

“Like you managed with Vargo Hoat? Brienne’s the reason you have two hands.”

Hunt looks a bit taken aback when Jaime replies, “I’d be dead if she didn’t dive in front of me.”

“I don’t know what she sees in you, Lannister.”

“Funny,” Jaime quips, “She’s told me _all_ about you, and I asked her the same thing.”

“At least I‘m respectable,” Hunt replies, “You’re a washed-up ex-con who’s _lucky_ enough not to be in jail. Just because we can’t get you on anything doesn’t mean _shit.”_

“She’s too good for you,” Jaime replies, “And she’s too good for me, too, but at least I know it.”

“I respected her,” Hunt tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I treated her like one of the guys. It’s _good_ that she’s not pretty. She’s a female cop; no one will take her seriously if she’s hot.”

If it wouldn’t cause a traffic accident, Jaime would reach across the console and _throttle_ Hunt. “Did you...did you fucking _say_ that to her?”

“Yeah, why? It’s the truth.”

Brienne never told him that one; he can imagine her expression--the hurt that would be there and what she’d do to hide it. “You fucking--she’s a _woman,_ you jackass.” Jaime waves his hands, “She likes fancy soap, and her streaming history is filled with romantic comedies. She--”

_Blushed like the fucking sunset that time I lit candle at her kitchen table. Looks longingly at things she doesn’t think suit her._

_“That’s_ why she dumped me? Because I’m not into some romantic bullshit?”

Smug again, Jaime says, “She told me you were boring and not funny.”

“Sorry for not being a standup comedian. _She’s_ the one with no sense of humor.”

“I make her laugh.” Sometimes it's at him, but Jaime doesn’t mind that.

“By being a godsdamned disaster?”

“Hunt, she dumped you because your idea of seduction is telling her your cock works and everyone looks the same in the dark _._ ”

Bushy, silent in the backseat until now, utters a single, “Yikes, bro.”

Whatever Hyle is going to say is truncated by a call coming in on the radio. The officer at dispatch relays some numbers, and Hyle flips the lights on.

* * *

By all accounts, it’s a quiet shift on patrol. 

Yet, Brienne is _incredibly_ stressed. Brynden rarely lets her drive, which sometimes rankles her, but it’s for the best today. She sits in the passenger seat and tries to relax, but ends up hunching her shoulders and gritting her teeth. Jaime and Hyle are out there in a patrol car together, _somewhere_ in the city, talking about Seven knows what.

There were _so_ many ways for that to go horribly awry.

Jaime has a _bit_ of a competitive streak when she talks about Hyle. It’s pointless because Jaime and Hyle are as different as night and day. Jaime _sees_ her in a way Hyle never did. Hyle could never get that even though she chose a male-dominated profession, even though she wasn’t what anyone would call beautiful, that she didn’t want a boyfriend who treated her like a frat brother. She wanted to be respected at work _and_ have a partner with a romantic bone in his body.

When she was younger, Brienne didn’t think she could have that for herself. She would rather be alone than with a man like Hyle Hunt. 

Maybe just the _slightest_ bit, but she thinks Hyle deserves some shit. She’d never do it herself, though. Brienne just hopes Jaime doesn’t nettle Hyle into some sort of metaphorical dick swinging contest. If it comes down to needing an arbiter, Brienne has enough experience with both to make a ruling, and it _won’t_ be in Hyle’s favor.

“You’re distracted today, Tarth,” Brynden says to her.

Brienne shakes her head to clear away her errant thoughts, “Sorry, sir.”

“A distracted cop is a dead cop. Or, worse, a dead civilian.”

He’s correct, of course. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Sometimes, though,” he keeps his eyes on the road, “airing things out can help maintain your focus.”

“Sir, I wouldn’t _dare_ bother you with--”

“Do I need to make it an order?” He’s stern, as usual, but there’s a hint of compassion there. Brienne really admires that.

“Jaime is riding with Hyle today, and them being alone together...concerns me.”

“Do you think they’re going to duel in the streets over your honor?”

The image makes Brienne laugh, but she composes herself, so it comes out more like a snort. “Gods, I hope not. I could beat them both.”

“That’s why you’re the best rookie we have,” he replies. “Do you think Jaime’s serious about law enforcement, or is he just doing the ride along to spend the day crawling up Hyle’s ass?”

As soon as Jaime was able, he enrolled in classes at King’s Landing Community College. He wasn’t much of a student, but most evenings found him hunched over books or his laptop at her table. He needed a minimum of an associate’s degree to enroll in the police academy, which was several semesters away. He kept lamenting the cumulative GPA his first attempt left him with.

“He just started school, but he’s serious. I think a ride along is a good idea--he should see what the day is like when it’s not...exciting.’

“It won’t suit him if he wants glory.”

Brienne shakes her head, “No, it’s not for glory. Jaime lost sight of himself for a while, but he’s making his way back.”

_He said he admired me._

“It’s not a bad thing for Officer Hunt to deal with someone being a pain in his ass.”

Brienne smiles, just a little, “It keeps him humble.”

* * *

It’s three in the afternoon.

Jaime watched Hunt chase down someone robbing a convenience store, respond to a domestic violence call, help an elderly woman cross the street, write three traffic citations, and literally be gifted a box of donuts.

He even gets to eat one--a buttermilk bar, which is his favorite.

Personality-wise, Hunt is _awful--_ boorish and bland and weirdly sanctimonious. Jaime would loathe spending _any_ leisure time with the man. He feels himself becoming _more_ boring with each passing moment spent with Hunt. 

Jaime admits, begrudgingly, that he isn’t a bad cop. He’s fair in making arrests, and Jaime finds him surprisingly compassionate when he sends people on their way with warnings. Jaime expects cops to be shady, and Hunt, like Brienne, isn’t.

Like _hell_ Jaime’s going to tell Hunt that, though.

They’re on the way back to the precinct when Hunt says, “Lannister, don’t _ever_ get in my car again.”

“Didn’t enjoy my company, Officer Hunt? I thought we were becoming friends near the end there.”

“No one would enjoy your company.”

“Now, that’s not true at all; Brienne enjoys _all kinds_ of my company.” Something lewder and more explicit is on the tip of Jaime’s tongue--Brienne divulged, probably more than she wanted to, the type of lover Hunt was. She had a lot of wine, and might not even remember all she said.

There was _nothing_ involving fucking that Hunt could do better than Jaime. _Maybe_ , though, there’s still something Hunt could help with, unknowingly at least. It’s quite easy when he exits the car at the precinct to slide his handcuffs out from where they’re tucked into the back of Hunt’s belt. Jaime’s stolen much bigger things from much more observant people. The handcuffs slide easily into his jacket pocket.

“I think this is the closest you’re gonna get to being a cop.” Hunt pulls a police badge sticker out of his shirt pocket and hands it to Jaime. “Try and keep her happy, Lannister.”

Grinning, Jaime peels the backing off the sticker and puts it on his jacket. 

_“Oh,_ I will.”

* * *

It’s Brienne’s turn to look over the equipment check-in log at the end of her shift. She scans over the initials and timestamps of her colleagues, documenting anything that’s missing or broken.

When she gets to Hyle’s, she notices his handcuffs are listed as missing. He hasn’t left the office yet, so she goes to inquire. 

“I honestly don’t know,” he admits, “They were there, and then they weren’t.”

Brienne raises her eyebrows, “Did you use them?”

Hyle shrugs, “Almost did on Lannister a few times, but duct tape would’ve been more effective. Asshole _never_ stops talking.”

She hides her smile quite effectively. “Is Jaime the last person you saw?”

“Yep. I sent him on his merry way with a police badge sticker. It’s the best he’s gonna do.”

Suddenly, Brienne thinks she knows who took Hyle’s handcuffs.

Brienne spends her commute home crafting a scolding in her head. One one hand, Jaime can’t steal police property--it costs taxpayer money, and it’s a _crime._ They can get punished when their equipment goes missing, and it could be a public safety issue. It’s not like Jaime took a gun, but the principle is the same.

Then there’s the fact that she absolutely, _shamelessly_ grabs a spare master key for the handcuffs from the supply room. _There’s so many and no one counts them._ She also spends the entire bus ride home with the knowledge of exactly _why_ Jaime lifted the handcuffs. That _shouldn’t_ excite her, but it does.

By the time she unlocks her front door, Brienne feels _quite_ worked up about the premise of Jaime handcuffed... _somewhere_ in her apartment. The details are abstract, but the way they make her feel is _quite_ concrete.

Jaime is at her kitchen table with his laptop and a notebook. If she didn’t know better, she might assume he hadn’t moved since the morning. His jacket is draped over the chair opposite him; the police badge sticker that Hyle gave him visible.

...The fucking handcuffs are there, too, dangling innocuously from the chair knob.

“Oh,” Jaime waves a hand at her, “You’re _home._ How was your day, sweetling?”

Brienne snorts, “Spare me your demure housewife routine, Jaime. Did you do the ride along _just_ to lift Hyle’s handcuffs and bring them home?”

His mirth vanishes like a cloud covering the sun, “Truly, no. I actually learned a lot today, and Hunt’s a bore, but he’s a good cop. Don’t tell him this, but I’m _more_ committed now.”

The sincerity in Jaime’s voice is the same as when he told her he was doing back to school. Brienne’s smiling when she replies, “I’m glad it was useful, but you just _couldn’t_ stop yourself, could you?”

“The real question is, officer, did you bring something to _unlock_ them?” When she produces the key from her pocket, laughter bubbles out of Jaime. It’s a long moment before he replies, “I _knew_ if you noticed I took them that you’d follow up with--”

 _“Shut up.”_ Brienne blushes from her face to her toes.

“I _think_ I broke the law,” Jaime clicks his tongue and shakes his head reproachfully, “You’ll have to punish me. It’s such a shame. I was doing so well.”

“Recidivism rates _are_ quite high.” It’s not exactly a joke, but Jaime takes it as one.

“You were so upstanding when we met, Officer Tarth. What have I done to you?”

“Eroded my moral code, apparently.”

Brienne likes the rapport between them, especially on the rare occasion she’s quick enough to banter back. Jaime’s theatrics are endearing, and he never fails to ham it up if the situation would be made more amusing, at least to him. He’s smirking at her.

“Wanna order a pizza in a bit?”

“Yeah,” she glances at the handcuffs then back to Jaime, “Maybe in an hour or so?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

* * *

Brienne picks the handcuffs up off the table, loops them over her index finger, and stares him down. The sight makes his jeans tighten uncomfortably. 

“Is it--” Brienne starts. Jaime waits because she _always_ gets there, and when she does, it’s mind blowing. “These are _Hyle’s_ handcuffs. Does that matter? Is that why you stole _these?”_

“It was on impulse.” Theft usually was. “Hunt turned around. I thought, if I could get them, something of Hyle fucking Hunt’s could be used to bind me to you. He’d _despise_ that, and he’d never know.”

Brienne looks taken aback; it manifests itself in a few seconds of rapid blinking. “What the _hell_ did the two of you talk about today? I assumed you nettled him, but--”

“He said I’m not good enough for you,” Jaime blurts, “That he had a stable job, and he respected you, and that I was just a washed up middle-aged man.” Hunt's words had been digging into Jaime all day; he responded with bravado in the moment, but, for better or for worse, all pretense is stripped when Brienne looks at him. “Hunt doesn’t get why you dumped him, that he was such a shitty lover you had to masturbate _after_ fucking him. And maybe he’s right about me, and I’m a project, but I think you’re extraordinary, as a cop _and_ as a woman.”

He feels a bit like he’s running down the alley from her all those months ago--out of breath and about to be caught. Brienne’s still holding the handcuffs. _Let it happen, fool. Let her keep you, and your life will be better for it._

Brienne, red in the face, stammers, “I _hoped_ you were too drunk to remember I told you that.”

“I could _never_ forget that.” Hunt’s slights were Jaime’s chance to prove himself. “I remember convincing you that you deserve more. ”

From Brienne’s expression, she remembers it, too.

“Jaime, you sound a bit jealous.”

“Hunt _offends_ me.”

“Hyle was a mediocre boyfriend--most people have one or two or ten.” Brienne takes his face in her hands. The metal of the handcuffs around her fingers is cool. “You’re not a project. You’re far more--” She’s redder now, maybe. “ _\--generous_ than Hyle ever was."

"A low bar," Jaime whispers, "And I'm not _nearly_ as generous as you."

Brienne, who looked at him with an open mind and an open heart. Who opened her arms and then her home to him. Who would’ve given her life for his. Jaime won’t beat that kindness, but can show his appreciation for it.

Brienne lays her arm over him, fingers curled around his shoulder. She walks him to her room-- _their_ room? Her expression is serious when she says, “You joke a lot.”

“...Do I?”

She raises her eyebrows, “You’re serious...about this?”

“About you handcuffing me to your bed and edging me to the seven hells and back?”

“T-that, yes.” She still has her arm around him, and her fingers tighten a bit on his shirt. _Interest._ Brienne can be very loud without saying a word.

“I’m _absolutely_ serious,” Jaime pauses, “...Unless you’re not into it.”

“I...thought about it the whole way home.”

Brienne sitting on the bus, handcuff key in her bag, thinking of using them on him--

“Did it get you going?” 

She answers with a smirk of her own, dropping the handcuffs on the bed. “I think the theme of the evening is you’ll have to wait and see.”

_Gods, I think I taught her to talk like that._

Brienne spins him to face her and kisses him; it’s heady and all-encompassing. Jaime _loves_ that about her. He’s never met a person who can make him feel so many things at once. She runs her tongue against his and cups her hand at the base of his skull. He presses himself against her. When he’s dizzy with her, Brienne kisses his cheek and whispers his name into his ear.

He responds with a demanding, “Undress me.”

Brienne's rich laugh vibrates through him, “Are you in a position to make demands?”

Jaime shrugs, “I won’t know if I don’t try.”

Brienne’s the star of the long game, so she does the task with an agonizing slowness. It’s just the beginning of an entire series of things that are going to drive Jaime out of his mind. With gentle, firm touches, she pulls his shirt over his head, fingers gliding over his skin and sending sparks where they land. When she gets to his jeans, she cups him through the fabric, and Jaime groans in protest as she lets go. He’s so hard he _aches._

It’s the anticipation of being at Brienne’s gentle mercy.

Then, he’s naked, and Brienne hasn’t removed a single stitch of clothing. It’s a power differential Jaime never considered, but he’s totally here for. Brienne kisses him again, slow and sweet--a different kind of ache--and fumbles for the handcuffs on the bed.

“If this gets weird,” she puts the key on her nightstand, “tell me.”

“Stop means stop.” He’s not interested in the dynamic of _no_ meaning _yes_ or _stop_ meaning _go._ Hearing that would be like getting ice water dumped on him.

“Agreed,” Brienne’s looking at him seriously. “How do you…?”

Jaime leans against her headboard and puts his hands behind his back, “Maybe this?”

For all his petty, and less-than-petty crimes, Jaime’s never been handcuffed, not even when Brienne dragged him to the precinct of the fateful day of their meeting. He tests his restraints--it’s not the most comfortable, having his hands behind his back, but the reward will be worth it. Brienne puts the key back on the nightstand and runs her eyes over him, cheeks flushed with arousal. The stare makes his every nerve ending tingle. 

“Jaime?” She looks like she doesn’t know where to begin. Jaime doesn’t either; the fantasy didn’t go past being pinned.

Nevertheless, Jaime’s always been quick on his feet. He looks at Brienne, at _all_ of her, thinking of her eyes, and her endless freckles, and her muscular legs.

“Maybe,” he sounds breathless with want, “you could touch your cunt and let me watch?”

* * *

Brienne doesn’t usually succumb to jealousy--she spent her childhood measuring various parts of herself against others and finding herself wanting. It served no purpose, and took a long time to stop doing it.

She’s discovered a covetous streak, though, brought out by Jaime.

 _I like him here._ It’s pointless to deny it. Jaime, restrained on her bed, cock hard, looks like a prize won. Brienne is the one making his skin flushed with the thought of coming together, making him have that hunger in his eyes. _She’s_ the one he trusts. That’s a power that could go to her head. She wants to torment him, make him beg to fuck her until he’s mad with the want of it. Then, she wants to pull away and start again until _she’s_ the one who can’t abide the pressure.

Then, Jaime has the gall to make a demand. _That’s just like him._

“And what will that do for _you?”_

“It’ll drive me crazy.”

Brienne touches him first, a gentle kiss while trailing her fingertips down his arm where it curves behind his back. Then, she does the same to his cock, admiring the way his hips jerk upward into the contact and his eyes flutter shut.

She strips--bottom half only--like the act is something perfunctory to relieve stress. Prior to Jaime, this was all business. She sits on the edge of the bed, and the intensity of his gaze burns like a brand.

When she pulls her legs up onto the bed and spreads her knees, Jaime sucks in a breath of air. Brienne, bared for him, is fluttery with nerves. She’s so wet already, has been since she realized Jaime took the handcuffs. It was such a lewd idea, but it reached every corner of her mind. Jaime’s looking at her cunt. He bites his lip when she slides an index finger over her entrance.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jaime’s tone is harsh, “You could take my cock right now, couldn’t you? I don’t even need to touch you first. I would though, of course.”

_Ever generous._

“I could,” Brienne slides over her entrance again, collecting moisture as she goes, “But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Jaime grins, “It’s not, no. I wanna watch you make yourself come.”

Brienne shuts her eyes and circles her clit with a finger. There’s a little burst of pleasure at the first pass that grows when she rubs back and forth. With the right stimulation, she can find completion in this alone, something she managed _long_ before Hyle left her wanting. The building pressure, low in her abdomen, makes her increase the speed. Brienne’s focus narrows to the task at hand, and when Jaime says her name, she’s almost startled.

“Keep your eyes open.” He sounds two steps away from begging, and _fuck_ that’s really, really good. 

_Is it a bad thing to want that?_

She does her damnedest to listen; meeting Jaime’s heated gaze is overmuch, but she takes in the rest of him. Jaime’s usually fidgety, but he’s _utterly_ still. She can tell it’s struggle; his breathing is ragged, and Brienne _knows_ he’s looking for something to create any kind of relief.

It’s not part of her usual routine, but she thinks of Jaime and slides two fingers into herself. It’s a good play because he gasps _fuck_ again and starts shifting on the bed.

 _“Gods,_ just like that, Brienne. Are you thinking of my cock?”

Brienne, never good with words, answers with a shaky breath and a nod. She draws the rest of it out, more for Jaime than for herself, thinking of the ledge he wants to be kept on. Patience is her strong suit; she can do that for him. 

It’s Jaime’s name on her lips when she shuts her eyes and goes over the edge. When she opens them, Jaime is squirming on the comforter. She tries to look at his face and not his cock, but fails. She knows his body language, knows he’s _close_ from the way he’s tensing up and his breath comes in short pants.

_Could he come from this alone?_

“I’m _dying,”_ he grinds out, “You’re absolutely _evil.”_

Brienne tilts her head, “Have you had enough?”

“Do your worst.”

She isn’t sure her worst is very bad, but when she crawls to him and kisses him, Jaime drinks in the contact, punctuating his movements by making hungry little noises into her mouth. Brienne’s fingers are sticky with her juices so she avoids touching her comforter until Jaime breaks the kiss and looks at her hand.

“Fastidious, even in the heat of--give me those.”

Jaime’s licked his fingers after touching her, so she knows he doesn’t mind the taste, but doing it to her is something else entirely. The heat of mouth as he twirls his tongue around her fingers, the way he sucks on them with just the slightest pressure. The power has shifted between them; Jaime’s the one restrained, but Brienne feels just as much at his mercy. She’s the executor of his suggestions. Brienne’s only just finished, but with the ebb and flow between them, already she desires more.

“J-Jaime,” she touches his cheek when he finishes, not caring that her fingers aren’t any drier than before. Jaime tilts his head into her touch. 

“Not quite the same as doing it myself,” he huffs, “but close.”

“You’re insufferable,” Brienne can’t keep the smile off her face. 

“Yet you’re keeping me captive like this.” He makes a show of struggling against the handcuffs. “ _Mixed signals,_ sweetling.”

The feigned innocence and the damned pet name grate on Brienne and make her want to torment Jaime more. If their positions were reversed, he would have a dozen witty quips to drive her up a wall. She’d be irritated, but she likes to hear him talk, and Jaime fucking knows it.

Brienne isn’t witty, so her weapon is action.

“Well, _sweetling,_ how about this?”

The pet named turned on Jaime makes him laugh, but the laughter dies when Brienne wraps her hand around his cock. It’s vindictive of Brienne, maybe, but she’s only doing what he asked. She uses her mouth on any part of him she can reach--the dip in his collarbone, one nipple and then the other. It’s a little selfish because Brienne _loves_ looking at him, loves feeling his muscles under her hands or her lips.

Jaime thrashes under her; Brienne uses just a _bit_ of her weight to keep him in place. She’s held him down before, so she doesn’t think he’ll mind. When she gets to his cock, Brienne replaces her hand with her mouth.

The noise Jaime makes is very nearly a _scream,_ and Brienne is going to be smug about that one for _quite_ some time. She doesn’t mind Jaime’s cock in her mouth--the weight and fullness of it, the short gasps that leave him when she uses her tongue. The handcuffs are a boon, here--Jaime would try and touch her otherwise, to give back in whatever way he could. All he can do now is thrust helplessly into her mouth and let out a string of curses.

His reactions are enough for Brienne; her cunt throbs with an aching want. She wants Jaime--

“Brienne, Brienne, _Brienne,”_ Jaime chants her name, “P-please stop.”

Immediately, she does and takes Jaime’s face in her hands, searching for any uneasiness. “What is it?” He’s a little dazed, so Brienne rubs her thumbs back and forth across his skin and waits.

“I’d like to come inside you.”

“Okay.”

“And I’d like my hands free when I do it.”

Once he’s freed, Brienne takes Jaime’s hands in her own and looks at his wrists. They’re unblemished, but he didn’t struggle. She’d worn them in the academy and learned about dislocating her thumbs to free herself if captured.

“Was that...okay?”

Jaime throws his arms around Brienne’s neck, tries to kiss her, and misses. The kiss lands on the bridge of her nose. “That was fucking _perfect._ Fuck, _you’re_ perfect.”

“I’m glad.” Brienne wants to be good for him, as good as he is for her. “You’re picking the next bit.”

 _“Ah.”_ He pulls Brienne close and rolls them over so she’s sprawled on the comforter beneath her. “A role reversal.”

“A trade,” Brienne amends.

“Of course.”

* * *

Brienne is _everything_.

Jaime thinks he should be accustomed to her by now, but somehow he’s just as much in awe of her as when she jumped in front of him when Hoat’s goonie shot at him. It’s the same feeling as when she vouched for him at her work party last month, or when she went to his community college orientation and whispered questions he’d never think to ask. 

Brienne’s the one who looks out for him, after a life spent only looking after himself.

So Jaime caps the toothpaste, even though he doesn’t care about it. When she comes home from work, cranky, he gives her space until she comes to him. When they argue, Jaime does his best not to lash out and apologizes when he fails.

And Jaime does what he’s doing that this moment--sinks his cock into her and loves the little gasp that leaves her. She circles her fingers around his biceps and looks up at him. Jaime’s uncertain how long this will actually last; Brienne is _shockingly_ effective at bringing him close and dropping him back.

He leans in and kisses her, “I’m gonna go slow, so I don’t embarrass myself.” 

Brienne has the gall to roll her eyes. _Those eyes of hers._ Blue enough to dive into and get lost. She used to close them at the slightest embarrassment, like she could hide from Jaime noticing the flushed arousal of her skin or the slickness of her cunt. She expresses desire everywhere, but he can never get her to _talk._

After a few measured thrusts, Brienne wraps her legs around his back and holds her to him. Her minute gestures of possessiveness make his blood boil. He wants to claim her and be claimed by her. It’s a side of him she unearthed. Her cunt clenches around him, tight and hot, and Jaime nearly gives up his pace. He longs to rush, to thrust until he spills into her and she holds him until he floats back to the earth.

“How do you feel?” He whispers the words into her ear at the apex of his thrust.

“I want you to speed up.”

 _“Gods,_ I was hoping you’d ask for that.”

A handful of thrusts at such a breakneck pace and Jaime comes. Brienne told him, once, that he was _quite_ theatrical about it, particularly in the afterglow. This time, Jaime’s arms give out as his hips jerk forward and he lands atop her in an ungainly heap.

Jaime’s forehead is damp with sweat. Brienne runs her fingers through the equally damp hair at the base of his neck. 

“You’re _quite_ a swooner, did you know that?”

“You’ve said many times,” Jaime answers, “It’s starting to impact my confidence.”

Her chuckle is warm and affectionate; she pats his back with her other hand. “It charms me.”

“I like coming inside you.”

“Is that like...some primal, manly thing?”

He’s silent for a moment, unpacking his feelings. “No. It’s just...intimate? I don’t know. I didn’t think before I spoke.”

“Do you ever?”

Jaime _so_ wants to see the expression on her face, so he pushes himself up. Brienne has the tiniest smile on her face, but she might as well be grinning. Jaime’s learned all the tiny signs of her happiness--the drumming of her fingers against his skin, the crinkling around her eyes.

“It means you trust me.”

“That _is_ what it means. It also means I _really_ hope you can reach the tissues. Why do we keep them on the far corner like that?”

“So you can watch me try and grab them?” They’re just out of Jaime’s reach, so Brienne tries to slide across the bed. It’s partially effective because Jaime grabs the box but loses his balance and lands on her again. “...Don’t tell anyone about that, okay?”

“You’ll _never_ make the police academy with reflexes like that.”

“I thought you were gonna help me study.”

* * *

If Jaime owns pajamas, Brienne has never seen them. She asked months ago, and Jaime shrugged and said that he slept naked. Then, he followed that up with, “If I do that now, you’ll never leave me be. I need my beauty rest.”

Brienne nearly disagreed with him, but she’s a _terrible_ liar; it makes her useless on undercover missions. Well, that and the fact that she’s _ridiculously_ conspicuous--anyone who saw her would recognize her immediately.

So, Jaime wears Brienne’s police department sweatshirts, or her old, faded track hoodie from college. He steals her sweatpants, too. She grimly awaits the day he turns his sights on her leggings. Right now, he’s on the couch wearing the track hoodie and his boxers eating a slice of cheese pizza.

It’s pretty typical, and it makes her smile.

Jaime _isn’t_ smiling, though, and Brienne hopes it’s not about the sex. There’s a little uncertainty that crawls up her throat sometimes.

“Hunt,” Jaime says before Brienne has the chance to try and ask, “gave me a police badge sticker and said it was the best I’d ever do.”

_“Fuck him.”_

Jaime tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, “I thought it was established he wasn’t any good at that.”

Brienne takes her second slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table with more aggression than the task demands. “Not _literal_ fucking, Jaime. I mean Hyle doesn’t know you _or_ your potential. Does eight hours in a car with you make him an expert?”

“There’s not _that_ much to know. He said I was a washed up ex-con, and he’s right.”

She shakes her head, “You’re taking a new path. That’s admirable.”

“It’s because of you,” he takes a drink of his beer, “I didn't want to do anything that would hurt you at work, but is that what I’m doing anyway? Am I making you look bad by trying to be better?”

“Not at all.”

“If I make it, what happens then? Jon told me I couldn’t do the ride along with you. There’s _rules,_ aren’t there? I...thought I was better than rules, but I’m not. I’m only lucky I haven’t been punished.”

“I asked Watch Commander Mormont about this, actually.” He stared her down the entire time like she was already breaking a rule, rather than just inquiring. “We can’t be official partners. We have to disclose it and sign an affidavit stating that it won’t impact work. I also can’t be your supervisor, but that’s _so_ far off, and unlikely.”

“If your goal is to be Watch Commander one day--”

Brienne waves her hand to stop Jaime, “I’d like to take the detective’s exam. I’d _never_ be your boss then.”

Jaime lets out a sigh that sounds like a host of worries is leaving him, and he sags against the couch. “You’ve added to my life; I don’t want to take from yours.”

Brienne’s words get stuck in her throat trying to express all the things Jaime has added. She accepted herself as she was, but she never assumed someone else would. She thought it would just be her and Galladon for a long, long time, like one of those cat spinsters Sansa jokes about. Jaime is there when she’s bone-tired at the end of a shift; it doesn’t even matter that he steals her clothes and leaves his socks everywhere.

She just loves him.

* * *

Jaime just loves her.

Brienne’s blush right now is the sheepish, shy kind, high on her cheeks over the freckles. Her ears are red, too, just peeking through her straw-blonde hair hanging loose. She’s not making eye contact, meaning she’s reckoning with something emotional. 

“Is the pizza making you existential?”

She glaces up from the plate resting on her bent knees, “N-no, not the pizza. I was just...thinking, I guess. About stuff.”

“Bad stuff?”

“We had a...weird start,” she says slowly.

“Do you mean the murdering drugrunner, or the we-just-met fucking, or my near homelessness, or the pandemic?”

“All of the above. It’s been crazy, but aren’t things...really nice, now?”

To know that Brienne will come home, and that he’ll cook for her, and that they’ll rip apart procedural crime dramas for their glaring inaccuracies. Jaime thought for a long time that he sought the thrill of _something._ He never considered the happiness in _not_ running.

“I love it.” No, that’s not quite right; he pauses and tries again. “I love _you.”_

“I love you, too.” Brienne smiles; it makes every one of her features come together. “I sort of gave up, after Hyle. Then _somebody_ ran in front of my police car.”

Jaime’s grin feels like it’s going to split his face in two. “You were just waiting for the right petty criminal with a heart of gold to sweep you off your feet.”

“Or the only one who _asked_ to be handcuffed to my bed. Most perps _don’t_ want that.”

“I have to do my time somehow, and you’re a gentle prison warden.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd _love_ to know your thoughts!


End file.
